My Wicklow Hills (Erie) Poem by Esther Barry

There's dew on the grass and bloom on the rose
Red deer on the hills where the white heather grows.
The splash of the stream rushing down through the glen
With an eagle in flight and a fox in his den.
A fleecy white cloud floating high in the sky
With the beating of wings as the wild geese pass by
The green shade of pine trees so straight and so tall
Through their branches the glint of a cool waterfall.
A small winding road leading up through the hill
Whence a view of the vale and the old watermill,
The call of the plover is heard in the air
So plaintive as if we weighed down with care.
A hare from his burrow so tall and erect
His ears at the ready each sound to detect.
With summer brings joy to nam and to beast
And colours of nature to eves are a feast.
And now in the evening as peace reigns supreme
All nature has entered the land of the dream.
The sun now turns red at the end of the day
And darkness descends as she sheds her last ray.